Cinderella
by axgentles
Summary: Her home has been taken over by a pureblooded cobra and her nestlings, her father isn't in his right mind and it seems that her only way out is marriage to a viper. But there is never only one way out. First try ladies and gents. AU
1. Chapter 1

Hermione watched the procession trudge along in front of her, towards the city square. Everything was draped in white: the pall bearers, the liveried guard, the casket cradling her deceased mother. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she looked almost directly at the sun to keep them from falling. Her father squeezed the arm he held tightly, in grim reassurance. When she looked at him, his face was emotionless, bare as always. Only the continued vice was a clue to his emotional state.

Finally, in the square, the funeral procession circled the Fountain of Brotherhood, once, twice, three times, a bell gonging loudly on the completion of each circle. The king sat atop a makeshift but no less magnificent throne. His queen stood to his left, his son to the right. The pall bearers lowered the casket in front of them. Hermione and her father parted ways and stood on either side of it. Her father bowed and Hermione curtsied, the way her mother taught her to. More tears welled in her eyes.

The king nodded and stood. "The entire kingdom feels a great loss today," he began. "Lady Jane Amelia Prewett-Granger was a good woman in all things. Beautiful and kind, her light shone brightly for everyone to see."

He went on to talk about little tidbits of information from her very short life that his wife no doubt supplied him with and his scribe no doubt wrote down for him. Hermione wasn't interested in how lovely the king could make her mother seem. She already knew. Her mother was warm-hearted and caring, smart and nurturing. A adoring woman whom Hermione and her father loved with all their hearts. She didn't know how her father would carry on now. Her mother was his world from the day he met her. As cold and distant as he seemed, he melted at her every touch and bent himself to her every whim and didn't mind at all.

Hermione herself felt a bit angry, along with the anguish of losing her mother. _How could she leave me now?_ Hermione wondered. _After she promised me never? She's up and left me with no clue of how to do things! She was supposed to teach me Italian and the ways of men! How to avoid annoying name-droppers and pick out the real friends!_ Without her, Hermione felt she had no direction.

Someone cleared a throat, waking Hermione from her down-trodden reverie. She focused and realized that everyone was looking at her expectantly. She was about to embarrass herself at her mother's funeral, disgracing her in her death. _Mother would have known what to do_.

All was quiet, and then something clicked. The king was supposed to ask her if she had anything to say and she could either grievously decline, or proudly make some powerful statement that would bring the crowd to tears. She couldn't help but think that her mother would have wanted her to say something. As the new lady of the house, she had to say something.

"My mother was not a boisterous woman," Hermione said quietly. "All this pomp over her would have made her blush unbecomingly. However, to see the love emanating from the friends, family and townspeople in this congregation would have made her break into tears. From the Granger family to all of yours, thank you for your support, love, kind words of comfort and the burden of grief you shared with us. Do not mistake, this is not a happy time for us, but my father and I are glad to know that we are not alone in these dark times."

Hermione didn't know where the words came from, but they flowed out of her almost elegantly. Maybe she was best under pressure. It made no one bawl, but a few women wiped their eyes with monogramed handkerchiefs. The queen smiled sadly, though still becomingly. The king nodded and a snare drum took up tattoo, the beginning to a funeral dirge, as well as the erratic rhythm of her heart. She stepped away from the casket and walked in a wide berth around it to meet her father behind it. He took her arm again and the pall bearers picked up the casket. A horn joined the drum and the procession marched out of the square and towards the grave yard.

The rest of the event passed in teary condolences, suffocating hugs, and pitying looks. The Duchess shook her head and invited Hermione to tea in two weeks' time, after the proper grieving period had finished. The carriage ride home was quiet and exhausted. Her father looked straight ahead, eyes straying neither to the right nor the left, focused however on a not so distant past. Hermione watched the city pass by her window, then the trees and shrubbery, too tired to think of anything, unwilling to let her mind run across her mother's beautiful face.

Her father left her in the foyer with no goodnight, but a lingering kiss on the forehead. The maids helped her out of her formal wear and into a nightgown, thankfully silently. When they left, she doused the candle lights and climbed into her bed for, hopefully, a long sleep, from which she would wake from this nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed that this was a waking nightmare, though. It was an entire week before Hermione came to terms with her mother's death, and another before she stopped expecting to see her mother's brightly smiling face at the table during meals. She'd taken to sitting in her mother's chair in the sun room, fiddling with her belongings as if she could squeeze the essence of her mother out of the fabrics and baubles.

Her father was not much better, she could only guess. He wasn't a very talkative man by nature, but he was not a recluse. Since the funeral, she'd seen hair of him, but not hide. He wouldn't look her in the eye when she did see him and he quickly, abruptly left the room when she entered.

Finally, the Duchess came to visit. She was naturally not a patient woman. She'd agreed to giving the Granger's their two weeks of grieving, and agreed to Hermione's short missives begging off one more week three times, but this was getting ridiculous. She understood that the grieving process often took much longer than the allotted social time, but there were things that must be taken care of, and if rumors were anything to go by, things were most certainly not being taken care of.

Hermione was rudely yelled awake by one of the maids. Three were in her room bustling about, one of them leaning over her speaking quickly into her face. Hermione's groggy mind was not receiving what she was saying and she stared at her stupidly, before covering the maid's mouth with her hand. She raised herself up painstakingly slowly and glared at the maid. The woman shrank back, the other two oblivious as to the goings-on behind them.

"What are you babbling about Eloise?" Hermione asked the maid.

"The Duchess," she said, her voice high. "And, and the marquis! They're here and they want to see you and your father and neither of you are ready to be seen in public and they want to see you right now!" Eloise's voice got higher and higher and more panicky and panicky as she explained the situation and all the problems.

In a burst of annoyance, Hermione silenced her with a charm. The other two maids finally noticed what was going on and stood rock still with whatever task they'd been doing partially done in their hands. Hermione had a growing urge to send them all away and to tell the Duchess and marquis that she would not be joining them for a social visit today. She knew however, that the Duchess would march up the stairs and scrub and dress Hermione herself until she was ready to receive company.

Hermione sighed and released the charm on Eloise, glaring at her as she almost re-started on her tirade. She threw the blankets off and asked, "Has a bath been drawn?"

Half an hour later, Hermione was dressed in a simple white dress with blue embroidery of flowers. Her hair was down in a low braided ponytail. Her face, however, nothing could be done for; she glowered indiscriminately all the way down the stairs and into the foyer where she received her guests with a perfect curtsy and a stormy face.

"Fix that expression, Hermione," the Duchess snapped. "One never receives guests with such a scowl on her face."

Hermione let her scowl recede into a tight lipped frown. The queen sighed. The dark haired man beside her, Marquis Sirius Black, chuckled. "How are you my dear?"

"I'm doing as well as can be, sir," Hermione answered quietly, a bit icily, "And you?"

"All the better for seeing you, my dear," he replied still chuckling. "You always make me smile, no matter how much you glare."

Hermione had a childish urge to stick her tongue out at him, but was saved from the embarrassment of succumbing by her stoic father. He looked as stiff and elegant as ever, hair combed, clothes unwrinkled, a face no more unwelcoming than normal. He bowed slowly, surely to the Duchess and nodded to his friend the marquis. He did not look Hermione's way.

"Your Grace," he said, "You look lovely this morning. How are you?"

"You look well yourself, Lord Granger. Marquis Black and I are very glad to see you." Hermione's father nodded., and then silence fell. It seemed to Hermione that it had a strangling hold on her throat. _Am I supposed to say something?_ A moment after the pause was too long to be called pregnant, the Duchess looked sharply at Hermione. "Won't you invite us to the sitting room, _Lady_ Granger?"

_That was mother's job,_ Hermione thought stiffly, but said, "Yes! My apologies your graces. Please join us in the sitting room."

The air loosened around her throat a bit as her father offered his arm to the Duchess. She thanked him and they began to leave Hermione and her godfather behind. Marquis Black held his arm out to Hermione and patted her hand. She looked up at him and managed to give a small smile in return for his toothy grin. "You'll get better at it."

After everyone settled down and Hermione ordered tea from one of the maids, there was another awkward silence, where Hermione felt she was supposed to be saying something. Finally the Duchess cleared her throat and started a conversation herself.

"What have you kept yourself busy with, Hermione? Something indoors, no doubt, you look pale as a ghost."

"Reading and the like, your grace," Hermione responded offering no chance for added conversation, but the Duchess was an expert conversationalist.

"Studies as well?"

"No your-"

"She turned her tutors away three weeks ago," her father broke in gruffly, shaking his head at Eloise, who was offering him tea. Everyone else took a cup.

"Turned her tutor away?" the Duchess said slowly, sounding more surprised than she felt. She looked at Hermione from under her graying eyelashes as she wandlessly stirred her sugar-two spoons, no more-into her tea. "Why ever would you do that?"

Hermione did not answer; she simply ignored the question, though she knew it was bad graces to do so, worse to do it to a guest, much worse to the Duchess. But Hermione didn't particularly care. She was not her mother, not nearly as gracious and welcoming as her. Not nearly so beautiful, nor adept at side stepping questions.

"I think Hermione might have begun teaching her tutor," the Marquis said nervously, trying to introduce a chuckle into his voice to lighten the mood. "She's clever enough to do it."

Hermione calmly sipped her tea, not even looking at her godfather. "Well what have you gotten on to, Lord Granger? I trust business as usual?"

"Yes, your grace, always." He seemed just as unsocial as Hermione was. The Duchess was beginning to get annoyed. Her eyes flashed slightly, though her demeanor did not change. _How long are they going to wallow in self pity?_ She wondered. _No matter. I only came to deal with one thing._

"Anything new? I heard you were looking into land in the Carribean. What do you plan to do with it?" The talk matured into business, far beyond Hermione's interest thresh hold, as it always was. Marquis Black joined in and they all chatted animatedly about what could be bought, grown and sold from on what island.

Hermione observed the conversation around her, like she always did, staying in the background, content to watch and understand. The Duchess oozed icy regality, as a royal should. Everything from her stately looks to her precise, ever questioning, ever interested speech made her the perfectly intimidating. Her name was Minerva McGonagall, but "the Duchess" sounded so much more intimidating and the name stuck. No one was immune to her charms and she was practicing them now, getting Lord Granger to stay in the conversation. His ever present scowl was softening as he talked about business plan. The one flaw with her father, in Hermione's opinion, was that he would not look at her. It was a recent flaw only appearing five weeks ago, after that miserable day. He would not even glance at her.

Once he did, on accident. She walked into the dining room, two days after the funeral. He looked up expectantly and then froze, eyes roaming her face. The lines in his face became pronounced, the furrow in his brow deeper, his frown more sullen and his eyes seemed to glisten. Suddenly they hardened and his face became emotionless. He stood abruptly and left the room. He didn't even make accidental eye contact with her after that. And he refused to do so now.

"What do you intend to do with Hermione, while you are gone?" the Duchess asked. Hermione sat straighter, hearing her name. "Surely you have plans for your daughter?"

Her father had no answer. His face fell into that emotionless wall, she saw less than five weeks ago. "Hermione," the Duchess said though she never took her eyes off Lord Granger. "I heard some new horses came in a few weeks ago. Marquis Black has expressed interest in seeing them. Why don't you take him to see them, maybe try them out, hmm?"

Hermione knew when she was being dismissed. "Yes, your majesty." Hermione led the Marquis to the stable unhurriedly. As they left the mansion behind, Sirius slowed their pace, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"She means well, you know that right?" he asked. His demeanor had lost its chuckle. "She just wants to make sure that you and Daniel are alright. That's all."

"Why does she care?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure she has other courtiers to attend to."

"Now Hermione, that's not fair, and you know it."

Hermione huffed. "You know that she and your mother were best friends. She cares for you, even if she doesn't show it well."

"I wish she would go away," Hermione muttered, as they reached the stables. "I wish everyone would."

"Oh but you can't possibly mean that!" the laughter was back in his eyes. He clutched his chest, feigning a wound. "You wouldn't want to send your favorite uncle away would you?"

That made Hermione giggle a bit, allowing the conversation to lighten. They talked about his godson, Harry and his friend, Ronald as they watched the stable hands try to break in one of the new horses.

"They miss you dearly," Sirius said, relaying a message. "They say to come horseback riding with them before they leave for the Academy again."

Hermione nodded. "Tell them next week." Sirius nodded and the fell into a comfortable silence, watching the hands make try after try to mount the large tawny stallion. Sirius suggested they go back to the house a while later, assuming the Duchess and Lord Granger would be finished with whatever private conversation they were having. It turns out, however, that the conversation was not finished; in fact, it sounded to be right in the middle.

"-need to re-marry!" the Duchess was saying, quite loudly-she never yelled, only spoke loudly. _No!_ Hermione cried in her mind. _Father can't remarry!_

"Why? For the sake of looks?" Her father bellowed. "I don't want to get married again! It is too soon."

"And who is to look after Hermione, hmm? And when you're gone? What about then?"

"I can look after my own daughter! She can come with me!" _He'd take me with him? Does he actually care?_

"Take her with you? This is her first Season! You can't take her with you? How is she to marry if she's off sailing seas with sailors and pirates and the like?"

"I don't want to get married now," Hermione whispered to Marquis Black. He grimaced and shrugged, then knocked on the heavy wooden doors.

They heard the Duchess growl, "This is not over, Daniel. Come in!" Hermione and the marquis entered slowly, wary of the two occupants. "Hermione, dear!" the Duchess exclaimed, clasping her hands together. The redness in her face could be excitement, but Hermione knew it was frustration.

"I have good news," she said. "Your father will be hosting a ball this Saturday."

"I did not-" The Duchess cut off his obvious refusal with a stinging glare.

"I know it's short notice at all, but I'm sure the turn out will be very large. You have a ball gown, haven't you dear? No? Well, we must have one made, haven't we?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi lovelies. So I'm new to this, I don't write often and I'm (studying to be) an engineer so I'm (slightly) insecure about my skills...REVIEW!**

**That is all :D**

The rest of the visit was short, goodbyes were clipped and Hermione and her father were exhausted. They stood together in the foyer, Lord Granger pinching his nose. Hermione fiddling with the lace on her sleeves. _Why won't he look at me?_

Though she was hoping and wishing for it, when he spoke her name, she jumped. "I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse. "I know I haven't been here for you, for anything and I'm sorry. I promise I won't leave you alone anymore, alright? We have to do this together, alright?" He sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself. He spread his arms wide and Hermione was enclosed by the soft leathery smell of her father. He kissed the top of her head. "My sweet little girl."

It seemed he was overcome with emotion, for he started to cry. Hermione followed him quickly, both of them dissolving into tears together in the foyer.

At dinner, Lord Granger explained what he and the Duchess had been arguing about.

"Are you going to do it?" Hermione asked quietly. She didn't want him to get married at all. It was like sullying the memory of her mother and then casting it away, especially so soon after her death.

He wiped his mouth and took a sip of wine before answering. "Yes and no. I'm going to do as she asks and have this ball-"  
"What does the ball have to do with anything?"

"Don't interrupt me, Hermione. You know better." Hermione apologized and he continued. "The ball is an attempt to make me sort through hundreds of gold-digging air-headed woman looking for a potential second wife. Just because I have the ball however, does not mean I will choose a wife." Hermione was silent, picking at her plate. "Hermione look at me. Should I find a woman I like-if the stars align in some obscure, once-in-a-blue-moon formation-I will consult you before making a decision. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded.

The week passed by in a flurry. Friday came and the Duchess was still shouting last minute directions at the tailor, the ball room was being polished to the infinite degree, the house elves were in the kitchen cooking and putting enough food under Stasis charms to feed entire wars. Guests from far-off provinces were arriving to stay the night, so between fittings and tastings, Hermione was getting good practice at being the perfect hostess. She did her best to keep the frightening scowl off her face, though it got harder towards the end of the day, and well into the night, when stragglers were dragging in. It didn't help that her new etiquette tutor-courtesy of the Duchess-was right by her side the entire time. She made the mistake of complaining once. The tutor rapped her on her knuckles and told her, "A charming hostess never worries for herself, but always for the guest." He could quote the rule book like a poem and it made Hermione want to take a very un-ladylike stance and punch him square in the jaw.

Needless to say, when Hermione was finally allowed to go to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, her patience had been tried, as well as her temper and stamina; she was drooling before her head touched the pillow and awake for a new day before the drool touched the sheets. Hermione was miserable, only getting quick bites in between her "lady-of-the-house" duties and a clipped hug from her father. He smiled apologetically at her when she was whisked off to make last minute decisions. Often-very often-she wished her mother were with her, to guide her and tell her what to do, which color napkins fit the décor of the evening, what the band should play, which desserts should be served. Her eyes pricked with tears every time. The best she could do was guess, and guess she did.

One last time, Hermione was whisked away, this time to her rooms, to prepare for the ball. A bath with citrus and vanilla scented oils was drawn and Hermione was allowed to relax for a while after her hair had been washed. She lounged as Eloise gently pulled a brush through her hair, brushing it until her chocolate curls shone and bounced with her every move. Hermione pulled on her shift and let Eloise braid her hair into a crown on her head, threading pearls through the braid and leaving soft curls around her forehead. A bit of color was added to her cheeks and lips. The dress, a lacy affair, was pale green, sleeves long and tight with beautifully embroidered white netting. Her slippers had the same embroidered pattern as the dress. When Hermione looked into the mirror, she couldn't help but gasp. She looked so different, yet so like herself. The coiffed hair, reddened lips, large doe-like golden brown eyes, fitted corset that made her breasts look pillowy and her hips a little more ample: it was as if her mother was the one looking in the mirror. Everything reminded her of her mother.

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes again but quickly wiped them away, lest she ruin all the hard work Eloise put into making her look pretty. In a fit of emotion, Hermione turned to hug Eloise tightly. There was a knock at her door and the Duchesses voice rang out.

"Hermione! Are you ready? Quickly now, you have guests to greet!" Hermione opened the door and followed Duchess McGonagall down the stairs and into the ball room. About a hundred or so people were milling about, the number rising with the steady stream of eager party-goers. Everything look so pretty and bright, women dressed in every hue the dressmakers could think of. The men in their tights, tunics and cloaks were not to be outdone and included braiding and brocading done in ruby red, emerald green, royal blue, or sunshine yellow, signifying their houses. Everything swirled and shone with frivolity and enjoyment.

The Duchess and Hermione made rounds around the ball room, greeting newcomers and important guests. Lesser lords and ladies brought their unmarried children, searching for a possible wealthy match. Two Heads of Houses had come to see the festivities: rounded glowing Poppy Pomfrey of Hufflepuff and tall, stately very, very old Rowena Ravenclaw. Head Ravenclaw was kind and polite, but she was aloof and distant as well, making Hermione feel more out of place than normal. Head Pomfrey was a ruthless gossiper and that was all that needed to be known about her.

"Learn to socialize, Hermione, dear," the Duchess told her. "Learn to look good doing it as well. Chin up, smile, shoulders back, soft movements, like a lady. Don't look the men in the eye and none of that smart tongue either. To anyone. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Duchess," Hermione said softly. "I understand." _Pretty and insipid._

"She understands perfectly, Duchess," a man's voice said, somewhere behind her.

"Yes, please allow her to practice with us," another said on her right. He grabbed her arm and quickly pulled her away from the Duchesses undignified screeches. The trio found a quiet, secluded corner shielded by a heavy tapestry to catch their breath and began laughing

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, truly happy for the first time in a long time. They all embraced excitedly, still laughing.

"Well then Hermione," Ron said, shaking his bright red locks out of his face. "It seems you've turned into a proper lady on us."

"Does it mean these clandestine meetings are over?" Harry asked, still chortling behind his words. "Are we to be forever separated into the worlds of men and women and royalty now?"

"Absolutely not!" Hermione gasped. "Never ever should the two of you leave me by myself with The Duchess! But you two can't talk either. The two of you get to tramp around Leeds, learning all manner of sorcery, no doubt acting like fools in your lessons and making even bigger fools of all the unsuspecting women there. Here I am left to learn house-keeping charms and beauty spells, with an insufferably over bearing Duchess and not even my mother here to make it a little easier, to make anything a little better."

Hermione's voice cracked and she fell silent. The joyful mood turned somber in a matter of moments. Hermione bowed her head and looked at her hands, trying not to let tears fall, though a few got past her defenses. Harry put his arms around her and hugged her, like he used to when Ron made fun of her ruthlessly as children. Ron simply put his hands on her shoulder, clueless as to what else he should do.

"I'm sorry, Mione," Harry whispered. "I lost my mum too when I was little, remember? It'll be alright, Mione. I promise, everything will come to rights."

"Don't call me that, Potter," Hermione sniffed. "You know I hate it when you call me that." Ron chuckled and Hermione smiled. "How's your sister, Ron?" she asked, trying to change the subject. He took the bait eagerly and retold with great gusto all the shenanigans the only female child of the Weasley family had been getting into.

The conversation continued on lightly with giggles and exclamations until Hermione's father stuck his head around the tapestry, mock glaring. "I hope you're not doing anything untoward to my daughter, boys. I would loathe to have to kill you."

"Papa!" Hermione groaned, then laughed.

"Please don't hurt me, sir!" Ron exclaimed, truly frightened. "I swear I only hugged her! Harry did too!"

Lord Granger struggled to hold back a laugh. Hermione giggled. Harry snorted. It was the first time he'd smiled in a long time. It made Hermione's heart soar to see it. _Maybe Harry's right._ "Come, Hermione. The Duchess is raising Merlin from his grave looking for you. Besides, there is someone I want you to meet."

Something nibbled at Hermione's mind at that phrase. _Someone I want you to meet._ Hermione glanced back at her friends and smiled brightly, though she'd begun to worry inside. She followed her father through the crowd. He had an uncharacteristic bounce to his step. _Maybe Harry's right._

She followed him to one of the confection tables lining the walls. An older woman was standing there, about the same age as her father. She was short, very slight, hair black as night pulled into a large, unadorned, braided bun. She had a beautiful smile, bright white surrounded by pink lips. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her velvet dress deep emerald green with silvery lace draped over it. Her eyes were a clear green, not dark like Harry's though. Two girls stood beside her, both a bit taller than her, one with long curly hair, the other straight. Both let it hang down their back in waterfalls. Both had her eyes. One was slight like their mother, the other thicker, with slightly wider hips and heavier bosom. Both smiled just as brightly as their mother. In short the trio was beautiful, striking alluring.

Hermione didn't like them.

The mother turned her bright smile on Lord Granger, who in turn grinned like a love sick teen. _Harry is wrong._


	4. Chapter 4

"Madame Greengrass, I'd like you to meet my daughter," her father said, taking Hermione by the hand and pulling her forward. "Hermione, say hello."

Hermione had the urge to tell him, _I'm not a child_, but instead she did as directed and said, "Hello," but that was all. Her father looked at her long enough for it to be considered a stare but turned back to Madame Greengrass.

"I'm sorry for my daughter's shortness," he said, dropping Hermione's hand for the woman's. "She must be tired. She did nearly single handedly put together this ball in one week, you know."

"An amazing feat, I'm sure," she said demurely, blinding smile still pasted to her face. "Hermione, let me introduce you to my daughters. Daphne is my oldest, then Astoria. You all look nearly the same age, don't they Daniel? I bet they'll be good friends in no time, maybe even as close as _sisters."_

Hermione's father nodded to every word he said. _Daniel? Sisters?_ Hermione wondered bewilderedly. _Harry was most absolutely wrong!_ This woman had a history. She had no title, but was very wealthy, thanks to two dead wealthy husbands. Her daughters belonged to the first husband who left his money to his wife and set up a Gringott's trust fund for the two girls once they turned 21. The second husband left half of his estate to his son's and the rest to the women, which was more than enough to keep them for life. What made her history so peculiar is how these men died. They were perfectly healthy, no signs or symptoms of sickness or cause of death otherwise. There was also no record at the ministry of a Killing Curse, or other deadly magic. They simply died. Now she was after her father, and she seemed to be succeeding.

Hermione was about to excuse herself-rudely-when the dinner bell rang. Instead she was forced to file into the formal dining hall with her father. Lord Granger stood at the head of the long table, Hermione to his right, the Duchess to the left. All the way down the table, guests sat in order of importance: the Heads of Houses next, then the dukes and duchesses, so on and so forth. Thankfully, that woman and her daughter were closer to the end, but that didn't stop the fond glances between Lord Granger and Madame Greengrass, all throughout the dinner.

Worst of all, Hermione knew those looks. He use to save them only for her mother, but now it seemed that they were no longer sacred, for he flung them down the table without a care as to who was looking. And people were looking-closely. Hermione saw all of the knowing glances passed between dinner parties and Head Pomfrey looked particularly merry at the drama she was watching unfold. Hermione felt sick, heartbroken and scared. She quickly excused herself from the table, complaining of a headache. Harry was most definitely wrong.

Once she left the dining hall, her walk advanced to a trot, until she found herself in the garden, in the middle of a grove of white magnolia trees. A breeze blew, making Hermione shiver and cross her arms in an attempt to stay warm. "He wouldn't marry a woman he just met," Hermione told herself. "Not after mother. And he said he'd talk to me. If I tell him no, then surely he won't go against my wishes right? We don't need anyone else, just us. The Duchess will more than be enough extra help. And that new tutor she hired. Merlin's saggy bollocks!" Hermione cursed, stomping her foot like a petulant child.

"Such foul language from a supposedly honorable young woman," someone drawled behind her. The voice made her shiver, not from the cold.

"Your Grace Malfoy," Hermione said softly, demurely as she turned around. "My apologies your Grace." She curtsied slowly, trying not to look clumsy.

"By all means, girl, continue on with your lunatic ramblings," he said, the trademark Malfoy smirk glued to his face. "I expect no different from a _mudblood._"

Hermione's blood ran hot. She hated that word, hated anyone that used it. Had it been any man other than this one, she would have given him a peace of her mind, damn the punishments. But this man however, this one made her as scared of the word as she was angry. His son was no better.

"I see your father has taken fancy to Madame Greengrass," he went on as if Hermione was not glaring daggers at him. "They will marry soon will they not? A splendid affair it will be no doubt." He plucked a magnolia bloom from the tree. "You know her record, don't you, Miss Granger? She's two for two now-maybe three for three in two years time."

"Excuse me, Your Grace, but seeing as the affairs of my family are none of your business, I'd appreciate if you would cease spreading rumors and sticking your nose where it is not wanted," Hermione told him, intending to walk back to the manor. Duke Malfoy's cane snapped her to a halt however, striking her shoulders softly. Hermione repressed her surprised jump as best she could, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. She turned only her head to glare at him. "I'd also appreciate it if you would let me go. Your Grace," she added condescendingly.

"Obviously no one deems you worthy of etiquette lessons, or else you would-"

"The lessons that include a little book on how to act vapid? I've had them, excelled in them in fact, but I don't deem bullies worthy of the fruit they bear." There was venom in her voice, one that Hermione had never heard from herself before. _Shut up, Hermione!_

Duke Malfoy sneered and threw the blossom away. "No matter, little girl. When your father is dead and that whore Greengrass throws you to the wolves, your etiquette lessons will do you no good, anywhere. A mudblood is worth _nothing_, in this world, much less a female one. But I, my sweet fiery thing, have an offer for you-a way out of sorts."

"Your wrong if you think I would come crawling to you, you snake!" The duke let his cane fall and gripped her chin in his gloved hands roughly.

"Listen and listen well girl, because my offer will not stand long. _Madame_ Greengrass will kill your father some way, somehow in order to get to that money. You will be left with nothing if she does. Though you are a disgusting worm of a girl, you are still a witch, a very powerful one-as well as pleasing to the eye." At this he let his gaze wander below her neck, making Hermione's stomach turn. "My son will be in need of a wife soon, and you a way out. Think on it."

Malfoy let go of her chin roughly, shoving her in the process. Hermione fell and watched the man stalk away, emerald green robes swirling, cane thumping. Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes before flowing over steadily, like a waterfall. She couldn't stop them, like all the times before. There was no one here to comfort her, nothing that she could tell herself that would make her feel better if only for a moment. _Nothing will ever be alright again, _Hermione despaired. She felt as if all she would be able to do is sit and watch as her life fell apart. She knew there was nothing that she could do.

The magnolia bloom Duke Malfoy discarded lay a few inches from her feet. She picked it up and stroked the soft petals, then threw it as hard as she could with a sharp shriek. Malfoy was right: she would be left with nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Assuming someone does follow this story, I probably won't post again until after finals. It turns out, I spend more time doing this than my homework. Enjoy!**

Indeed, Lord Daniel Granger and Madame Azalea Greengrass were married after a short courting period in which Hermione learned that: a) Daphne and Astoria were selfish, self-centered brats, b) Madame Greengrass was no better, c) her opinion no longer mattered, and d) nothing was as it seemed. As promised, her father talked to-at, really-Hermione about his relationship with the Black Widow, as Hermione liked to call her. When she expressed her concerns, her father was uncharacteristically unwilling to hear her. Instead he called her "obstinate," "ungrateful," and best of all, a "foolhardy, hard-headed child not worth his attention."

After Hermione got over the sting of his words, she thought long and hard over their very one sided conversation. It was not in her father's nature to be so mean, or vocal. It was not in his nature to make decisions like marriage so quickly either. As far as Hermione was concerned, one woman was behind it and behind her, two little henchwomen.

What also bewildered Hermione was the fact that her father could not see that the Greengrasses were obviously blood supremacists. Daphne and Astoria sneered and snarked whenever Hermione did anything that involved them, however distant. They often whispered "mudblood" when they hugged in front of their parents. When father invited them for dinner or tea, anything, the Greengrasses did not want a maid to look after them, they wanted Hermione to get it. At first Hermione thought they just wanted her out of the picture because he might listen to her or the sour look on her face might ruin their flirtatious mood. She was partially right; they did want her out of the picture, but not because of influence, simply because they believed that she had no right to be part of a primarily pureblood family. Hermione knew then that they were not really in love, not even in lust. She didn't know what they were-yet. She did know that the Greengrass women were in it for the money.

All of that left Hermione here-behind Astoria, Daphne and their escorts, standing with her own (who was a curse in himself), in matching pale green gowns, waiting for her turn to walk down the aisle in her pinched shoes at her father's and soon-to-be evil stepmother's wedding. She could cry.

Finally the music started playing and the heavy wooden doors to the garden swung open slowly. Daphne and her escort, Theodore Nott, were the first to make their way down the aisle gracefully, smiling demurely, somehow making her short gown train trail over the grass like water. Then Astoria and her escort, Adrian Pucey, doing the same thing. Hermione readied herself, holding her head high, her shoulders back, a small smile on her face, on the border of quiet joy and repressed sadness, depending on who you asked.

As Hermione and her escort walked slowly, Hermione took in the wedding venue. They decided to have in the magnolia grove, which was still in full bloom. _Fitting,_ Hermione thought. Many lesser people were here, making up the majority of the three hundred head count. Marquis Black sat somewhere in the second row with a grimace on his face, Duke Malfoy on the other side, looking a bit more self-satisfied. He looked at Hermione, smirking and nodding, then his gaze flicked to the man beside her, his son. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Malfoy bribed Madame Greengrass to let his son, Draco Malfoy walk the aisle with Hermione. That woman would do anything as long as she got paid.

Speaking of the devil, Hermione and her escort finally reached the parting point and the wedding march truly began. Madame Greengrass came down the aisle, a vision in white. _She should be wearing black,_ Hermione snarked mentally. Her father, whom Hermione just realized hadn't looked at her yet, couldn't take his eyes off the Black Widow. Adoration filled every feature of his face; the crowd would assume it came with deep love, but Hermione knew-she just knew-it had to be something else. _What has she done to my father?_

Hermione couldn't bear to actually watch and listen to the ceremony, so instead, she gave a mental running commentary on everything she saw, heard or smelled. Astoria had a terrible flatulence problem, and Hermione was at the butt end-pun very much intended-of it the entire time. She knew that they both smelled it for their little petite noses wrinkled every time. There were dark clouds on the horizon, a storm moving in. She hoped for thunder and lightning to strike down the Greengrass women, or maybe herself. Either choice would suit her just fine. Many women wore large overly decorated hats. _Probably to hide bald spots._ They decided to have in the magnolia grove, which was still in full bloom. _Fitting,_ Hermione thought. _My misery seems to culminate here often._

When time came for Lord Granger and Madame Greengrass-Lady Granger now-to kiss. Hermione looked blindly at one of the trees directly opposite of her, refusing to cry. There was sighing and cooing and once the band struck up a livelier wedding march to send the couple out. The crowd followed them to the rose garden, which had been turned into a reception pavilion, complete with hundreds of tables, a dance floor and raised stage for the bride, groom and their families. Again however, something was wrong. There were five seats at the table, every one of them already filled.

Astoria, smiled evilly and waved her little fingers. She pointed at the floor beside her and mouthed, "Pillow?" She cackled and got her sister's attention at the other end of the table. Together they tittered and mocked until Hermione stalked away. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her-_Why are people always pulling me?-_to a table, not very far from the new family's table. Hermione looked up at her snatcher and glared at the man.

"Let me go Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, wrenching her arm out of the younger Malfoy's grasp. He glanced back at her, pulled out a chair and sat down in the one next to it.

"This is our table," he said, spreading a pale green and white striped napkin over his lap. When he looked up again, Hermione was still standing, looking back at the table, namely her father.

Lord Granger was engrossed in in his new wife, kissing her fingers, smiling indulgently, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Hermione felt as if her mother had just died again. Her father was in a completely different world again, where she didn't exist. This time however, there would be no father-daughter moment to make everything better, if only for a short while. This time she wouldn't cry.

"Aren't you going to sit down, Miss Granger?" Malfoy asked her. Hermione sat in the seat he pulled out for her. People who were in the wedding train, but unimportant, were seated at this table. _Shameful. _Hermione nodded to them in greeting. She'd been forced to spend time with them, practicing for this _glorious _wedding, but they rarely spoke.

"So how'd you end up here, Miss Granger?" Theodore Nott asked. "Shouldn't you be up there with the happy new family?"

Hermione glared hotly, but ignored his question otherwise, settling her napkin on her lap. Pucey leaned back stretching his arms above his head. "Well, the Black Widow strikes again," he said chuckling.

Hermione smiled, only for a moment. _I thought I was the only one with that name for her._ She looked around at her tablemates. Malfoy and Nott were the sons of dukes; Pucey was a marquis. They all had the aristocratic features of royals, all very handsome. Her only problem with them was that they would gladly call her a mudblood and would always assume she was an idiot.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, while she was observing her acquaintances, Draco Malfoy was observing her. _Is this the chit father was talking about?_ He wondered. _Yeah she's something to look at but_-the thought trailed off. He looked at the Greengrass sisters on top of the dais, enjoying their new family. She was not at their level. They were downright gorgeous. Pureblooded beauties with no title. Granger was a _mudblood_, which posed a problem. They didn't disgust him, like they did his father, but they were _not_ his favorites. She was pretty though: chocolate hair, big almond-shaped honey eyes, breast larger than the Greengrass sisters, hips and waist wider than theirs, but everything evened out by height. She really was a beauty, but she didn't seem to have anything that set her apart.

Hermione felt eyes on her; Draco Malfoy was staring intently at her. "Did you need something, Malfoy?" Hermione asked. She couldn't help but hate him thanks to his father. "I'm sure your father can bribe whatever it is you want out of someone. It shouldn't be too, hard."

To say Draco was surprised would have been an understatement. _What did _I _do?_ Draco wondered bewilderedly. "I don't need anything from you Miss Granger."

"The kitten can scratch!" Pucey laughed. Hermione glared at him.

"Don't call me that, Pucey!" _Why am I so angry?_ Hermione wondered. She took a deep breath and put her hands on the table. "Look, I don't particularly like you and you all don't like me. We don't have to be friends, but I'd like to be civil."

"You're the one that started this, kitten," Adrian pointed out. Hermione glared hard at him.

"Stop calling me that, Pucey!" Hermione growled. Pucey simply smiled at her. She huffed and stared at the food that appeared on her plate: blackened salmon on a bed of rice with asparagus drizzled in orange sauce. She began to eat and everyone else followed her suit in silence.

Hermione's only blessing all throughout dinner was a deliciously decadent chocolate soufflé. It was perfect in every way, the outside nice and crusty sprinkled with powdered sugar, raspberry syrup checkered across the top. She nearly cried when two strawberries appeared on the plate. The chocolate provided a well appreciated respite from the wedding and Hermione tucked into it with gusto. She even went so far as to wipe the left over chocolate ooze from the plate and suck it off her finger.

Again she was oblivious to someone's hot stare. Theodore Nott couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted her; he'd have her.

When most people were finished with their desserts, and the cake had been cut and passed out, the band struck up a slow song for the first dance as husband and wife. Soon other couples joined them on the floor. Hermione watched in annoyance as her father held her stepmother close. Nott and Pucey stood and went to the table together, inviting the sisters they escorted to dance. Two songs passed with the band playing, raucous laughter, and Hermione's bad mood. It had been lightened by the chocolate, but her heart ached when she looked at her father.

Draco pushing back his chair with a loud screech startled her out of her bleak reverie. He held his hand out to her. "May I have this dance, Miss Granger?" Hermione stared at the hand offered to her then up at the owner of the hand. Just beyond him, Duke Malfoy smirked knowingly. _Nothing left_ echoed in Hermione's head. She took it.

Malfoy was a superb dancer, smooth and graceful a considerate dancer. Together, they waltzed around other couples, gliding as if on air. Hermione saw Madame Greengrass-Lady Granger (she must remember to call her _Lady Greengrass)_ watching their progress with a glint in her eye. Hermione wondered what she was thinking.

"I suppose my father has already spoken to you?" Draco asked lowly, his head bowed above her ear so no one else would hear. His voice made her shiver, not like his father's did however, neither like the cold. It was something else.

"Yes, he has," Hermione said shortly. 'I guess you are going to re-make the offer, correct?"

"It is obvious that neither of us are amenable to a marriage, but it mightn't be all that-"

"All that bad? Of course it will be! I don't know you at all! I most certainly don't want to sleep with you!

"That's just what an arranged marriage entails-"

"I don't care! I don't want to marry you!"

"Will you-!" he shouted, then lowered his voice. "Will you just listen for a moment? I understand that the thought of marriage may frighten you and that the way my father proposed it was not at all ideal, but maybe we could learn to like each other, mutual respect at the least."

"Why are you interested in a mudblood anyways?" Hermione interrupted him. "Doesn't it make you sick to hold me this close, much less marry me? Lay with me? Sire my children? Aren't you worried about sullying your bloodline? You all make me sick." Hermione glared up at him-_My goodness he's tall-_and dared him to defend himself. How could he defend himself?

Throughout her rant, Malfoy's hand tightened on her back and his lips tightened into a thin line. "I thought I would try and be nice and civil thinking you'd respond better to that than whatever cheap fear tactic my father use, but obviously I was wrong. You see your father now don't you? Besotted with that murderous whore, isn't he? He won't be here for much longer and I will soon be your only choice. Oh and let me clear this up for you Miss Granger: father is the supremacist. I may have been taught the ideals, but I am old enough to make my own way. My father's ideas are not mine."

He left Hermione at the edge of the dance floor and stalked away. "Oh," was all she could say. She had not expected him to react like that. She had expected him to agree with her coolly, sardonically and then continue on with his request. Instead he'd shown that he had more backbone than she thought. He could be cruel, too. Her back ached where he'd grasped her. Hermione watched him part the sea of party goers until he left the tent. Oddly enough, she felt a bit bad, not sorry, but something bad.

"Oh don't worry dear," Lady Granger's honeyed voice said beside her. "He'll be back." Hermione glanced at her, then glanced away. She had to be civil, but not kind.

"I trust you are doing well then, Lady Granger?" Hermione inquired evenly.

"Don't be so cold, Hermione dear!" she exclaimed mirthfully. "Give you new mummy a hug, won't you?" She held her arms out to Hermione who looked at her dolefully. Somehow the "come on" motion she made did not feel motherly to Hermione.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to wrinkle my dress," Hermione said declining. Lady Granger put her arms down.

"Well, I take it you don't like me, Hermione, but shouldn't we get along for your father's sake?"

"My father's sake? My father's sake! The only thing of my father's that you care for is his money!" Hermione started to walk away, trying to get away from the Black Widow, but she followed.

"Now that's not a fair assessment, Hermione, and you know that. I thought you were friends with those naïve altruistic Gryffindors. You should know something about fairness, correct?" Her voice turned taunting. "Come on Hermione, dear can't we play nice? I promise not to make your life too terrible!"

"Go away!" Hermione shouted. They were leaving the pavilion now going further into the garden.

Seeing as you're a mudblood and all I should make you a servant. A personal one maybe? But even in his drugged state, your father might not allow that."

"You drugged him?" Hermione asked, suddenly scared for her father. She turned on the spider of a woman. "You did do something to him! What did you give him?"

"Yes I drugged him, but all that won't matter soon. You can't trace it to me, can't prove it to anyone. Besides who will believe you, a mudblood? And still, that leaves me wondering: what do I do with you? The Malfoy boy seems to have his eye on you, but why? You are most definitely not worth their time, or their money-"

"Quit your idiotic rambling and tell me what you did to my father!" Hermione screamed, shoving the woman.

Quick as a flash, Lady Granger had her wand out silencing Hermione. "Merlin! Why any man would want to marry you I don't know! No civility and you talk somuch! Young Mr. Malfoy should be talking to my daughters. I'm sure Daphne can fulfill even his wildest dreams of what a witch _should_ be. Much better than a _mudblood_." She paused and looked at Hermione, smiling cruelly. "Why don't you stay out here a while, Hermione? Let the fresh air ease your ailing head. My, my but you are a sickly child."

"Azalea!" her father yelled from the pavilion. "Azalea my dear! Where are you?"

"Your father's calling." She giggled and wiggled her fingers at Hermione. "Ta-ta for now. Yes Daniel love? I'm coming."

She may as well have skipped off, leaving Hermione silent and fuming. _That bitch! That murdering whore!_ She ranted in her head. She was up to something, feeding her father some sort of strong untraceable love potion. People may not believe her, but Hermione was sure she would be able to prove her treachery beyond a doubt and get her punished for her crimes. Until then, Hermione would just have to wait and do something she did best: study. How many different love potions could there possibly be?


End file.
